


Can't trust the fall

by Angelicasdean



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Whump, Arthur can't catch a break, Blood and Injury, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dutch, Torture, Western, Why Did I Write This?, because i love that camp, but dont worry, dad hosea, during chapter 3, he's trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: One minute Arthur and Dutch are racing towards camp, next thing they're running away from camp trying to lead the O'driscolls away.





	1. Dewberry Creek

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably study or update my other fics. But oh well.

The events that transpired the fight are blurry at best, Arthur doesn't really know, one minute he and Dutch are racing towards camp, next thing they're running _away_ from camp trying to lead the O'driscolls away.

It was a flurry of bullets and shouts, whether they have been from Dutch, himself or the O'driscolls Arthur can hardly distinguish. They ended up at Dewberry creek, crouched behind rocks and trading bullets under the darkening sky. The O'driscolls seem to multiply, like a hydra, once one falls, two take their place. Arthur can barely shoot without having a storm of bullets his way, trying to take the heat off of Dutch, enough that they can move towards a safer area, at least somewhere where they can have a better cover, but there was enough O'driscolls to take on their entire gang, non working members included.

Dutch yelps, falling onto his back as Arthur hastily ducks to get near him, "Dutch?" Arthur calls, Dutch waves him off, picking up his fallen pistol and wasting no time to continue shooting. Arthur passes a worried glance every few seconds, closing his eyes as a bullet whizzes close to his ear. He ducks, slipping onto the rocks and pulling open his satchel. He has a few dynamite sticks, courtesy of Bill, he raises one, clear into Dutch's view and Dutch nods his agreement.

Arthur digs through the pocket of his satchel for a match, striking it against his boot and igniting the dynamite. Dutch takes a few steps back as Arthur throws it, Arthur sinking behind the rock again as the O'driscolls shout their warnings. It blows and Arthur peaks to see the damage, letting out a surprised yelp as a bullet flies his way, it catches above his elbow and he stumbles back. Gritting his teeth, Arthur clasps a hand over the wound, wincing as pain spikes. It's minimal, doesn't really affect his movement, he'll feel the recoil of his gun for sure but nothing more.

Arthur reloads quickly, blinking as a familiar hissing sound echos beside him. Dutch calls his name, Arthur short circuits as he watches the sparking wire dissapate, closing his eyes as he takes a step to the side, having enough instinct to raise a hand to cover his face as the dynamite blows. For a moment, Arthur can't hear anything except a high pitched whine, a whistling sound then his own coughs as the pain falls on him. He can feel his legs leave the ground, fire engulfing his arm as he tries to find his footing again, fruitless against gravity as it pulls him down hard towards the rocky ground.

Arthur opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the blurry sky above him, now fully dark and decorated with stars. He tries to sit up, pain radiating through his body as he searches around, the world is quiet, _too quiet_. Arthur tries to pull a hand towards his ears, grunting when it wouldn't move, feeling like an extra weight had been added. He can loll his head to the side, watching as Dutch collects himself, the explosion having blown him off his feet too.

Sound returns slowly, Arthur grasping more and more, the shouts, the still ringing bullets. Dutch shouts something, face scrunched in worry as hands come into Arthur's view.

Confused and pained, Arthur tries and fails to push away the intrusive hands, distantly, he figures the people pulling him away from Dutch must be O'driscolls. He fights his own body, trying to at least give a fight he's bound to lose, anything but let them take him so easily. Dutch raises his pistol, uneven as he stumbles to his feet, he can see the spark of a bullet being fired, the sound of someone screaming in pain, can feel himself fall, didn't even know they elevated his head.

He gasps, pain pulling at his sides as he uses what little strength he can gather to crawl away. He rolls onto his stomach, gritting his teeth as he catches sight of his arm, bleeding heavily from where the explosion had burned him. He blinks, catching sight of a gun, strewn across the rocks, must have fallen from an O'driscoll. He pushes himself feebly, leg slipping and knee colliding against the rocks. He pulls himself feeling sluggish and pained as the gunshots continue above him, stretching a hand to grasp the gun, doing his best to reach it. As soon as he feels the cool metal under his fingers, a foot stomps on his hand harshly, pulling back as Arthur cries out, hand falling limp against the gun, the foot comes back down on his hand, kicking it off then a hand grabs the gun. _There goes that_ , Arthur thinks. 

Arthur groans, pulling his arm back, blinking heavily against his twisted fingers, broken for sure, but the pain mixes with everything else, getting lost as his brain scrambles to tell him where he's wounded. His arms, his sides, his head, his hands, everywhere _hurts_.

Hopelessly, or maybe hopeful, Arthur turns to where Dutch was, squinting as he watches Dutch fight off two men, shooting them in the stomach before training his gun above Arthur.

"Arthur?" Dutch says, his voice muffled to Arthur's ear, but he can distinguish his own name.

He tries to speak but he can't, mouth too heavy, tongue laying paralyzed, his head feels too heavy as he sags. It's not safe, he should probably help, should gather himself but he can't, too _tired_ , too _pained_. Dutch says something, but his eyes stay above Arthur, undoubtedly at an O'driscoll. Arthur groans as pressure comes down his side, he closes his eyes, knowing it might be dangerous, he's already tired, he can't risk passing out. What if more come? He can't leave Dutch alone.

He forces his eyes to open again, blinking as feet come to his peripheral, Dutch lowers his gun, raising his arms beside his head. Arthur would frown if he can, Dutch his speaking but Arthur can only concentrate on the ringing in his ear, he blinks rapidly against his darkening vision. _Not now_ , he internally groans, but no luck. His vision blurs for a second before the pull of his eyelids is too much, and he succumbs to the tiredness pulling at his bones.

 


	2. The Heartlands

The first thing Arthur registers is the constant jolt, how his head bounced uncomfortably. There is an uncomfortable ringing in his left ear, high, persistent and annoying, doesn't help that he has a headache splitting his head into two as he forces his eyes open, barely catching a glance of rapidly moving ground underneath him before dirt flies into his eyes. He's on a horse, he realizes distastefully, despite the fire running up the left side of his body, Arthur tries to wiggle, bruised ribs protesting. He shifts once more, feeling the familiar feeling of rope around his wrists bounding him, _shit,_ he thinks, craning his neck to catch a glimpse at whoever is riding the horse. He leans to one side, realizing that the rope around his feet is less tight, enough that he can move his feet apart slightly, whoever tied him up didn't do a great job, Arthur isn't sure, but he thinks if his hands didn't hurt so much; he might've been able to untie himself. With a grunt, Arthur twists himself against the direction the horse is moving, suppressing a yelp as he falls to the ground.

"What the hell?!" The rider shouts as Arthur knees himself into a standing position, the rope falling untied around his ankles and Arthur wastes no time running into the trees, "Get back here! Boys! Morgan got away!" the man shouts and Arthur risks a glance behind him, two men he hadn't even noticed running back to the man. O'driscolls, Arthur realizes bitterly, events coming back to him, they must have gotten him. He doesn't hear the rest of the conversation, running in between trees as he tries to pinpoint his location. It feels familiar, at least he thinks it does. It has fresher air than most of Lemoyne, the trees look healthy and the ground underneath him is soggy, maybe somewhere where Lemoyne and New Hanover meet, hopefully nowhere near Valentine, wouldn't help much if the law caught him. He's in no state to fight, he realizes, he can feel the metal of his hidden blade against his ankle, but he can't feel the familiar weight of his pistol, doesn't even know if it made it out of the creek.

His lungs burn as he exits the forest, only thing he can see is grass and hills, a few doe turn towards him, raising their heads curiously as Arthur pauses, there's nothing to hide between, he doesn't know whether he should go left or right but if his assumptions are correct, then he should head right, towards Lemoyne, towards camp. 

The sound of thundering hooves jolts him into action, despite his legs begging for rest, his chest aching, heart beating a mile a minute. Arthur doesn't stop, not as the shouts call for him, not as he heads between the trees again, though close enough he can see the road. The first gunshot threatens to make him freeze, but he doesn't, he fights the urge to duck into cover, knowing it'll be useless while he's unarmed, he runs, feet hitting the ground hard and fast as he gasps against each rattling breath. Distantly, he can feel himself wondering how he ended up here, how he found himself under the O'driscolls hands. The last thing he remembers is Dutch, Dutch pointing a gun at someone above him, _no, no that's wrong_ , it was Dutch surrendering. He feels dread creep in, do they have Dutch too? He hadn't seen anyone else tied on the backs of their horses, but he didn't get enough to be sure.

Maybe he's with another group, one that's further away.  

He can't help him though, as much as Arthur hates to admit it, the best chance for them is if Arthur manages to get away. The bullets flying around him begin to thin, but not in the way Arthur wishes. They turn more accurate, persistent, getting closer and closer as he dodges by pure dumb luck. Sooner or later, as his luck always seems bitter, one will hit, he _knows_ , can feel it in the way the dirt seems to kick up closer each time. He just wishes it's either lethal or somewhere that allows him to continue running. He can't hear the horse hooves anymore, which worries him more than anything, it should help him relax but he can't, he can feel eyes on him, knows the feeling, like a clueless deer, running around fruitlessly. A final crack, Arthur sees the ground coming up fast as he stumbles and falls, pain coming as a second thought, caught him right above his hip. He groans as he tries to push himself to his feet, horse hooves closer and Arthur cringes as he hears the crunch of footsteps come towards him. "Gotta hand it to ya, Morgan," The O'driscoll smiles as he grabs Arthur by his hair, pulling him up to face him, "you're a hell of a runner, in your state, I thought you'd double over and die,"

"No luck, I guess," Arthur replies, the O'driscoll jerking Arthur's head, surely tearing out a few strands of hair, or so it feels. Arthur can feel the burn in his hip, the blood oozing out and staining his ruined shirt, the thought of giving up is very tempting, especially with all the pain that comes crashing down on him as the adrenaline fades, but he can't, he owes so much to himself, won't die in the hands of an O'driscoll, "Say what, you let me go, I won't kill all  of ya," Arthur bargains, knowing it won't work, but it buys him time to think of a plan, he's no Dutch, but he's good under pressure, mostly.

The O'driscoll laughs nasally, letting Arthur's head drop into the dirt as he turns to his friends, "Let you go? Buddy, we're going to die anyway, Van Der Linde knows us, knows me at least, I don't know about you, Tommy," The O'driscoll says, sounding sincere and no bit scared, "Your old Dutch, he'll come raining hell on us, but you'll be long since dead, and we'll be dead too, leaving him, lost as the day we killed Annabelle," the O'driscoll laughs again, kicking Arthur as he bends again, grabbing Arthur's collar and pulling him to his knees. Arthur fixes him a cold glare, grabbing the O'driscoll wrist in weak retaliation. The O'driscoll snorts, punching Arthur as he continues to speak, "Colm had this big plan about kidnapping you, but lo and behold, you fell right under my feet." Another punch, Arthur tilts sideways, the O'driscoll pulling him straight again, "Last time I saw you, Morgan, you killed my father," 

"I'd say I did him a favor," Arthur groans, flexing his jaw as he tightens his grip around the O'driscoll's wrist. The O'driscoll grimaces, backing away slightly before bringing his fist down on Arthur's face again, this time, letting him fall backward as his nose bleeds freely. Arthur brings a hand to his face, feeling the throb of a broken nose, blood smudging against his lip and chin, The O'driscoll doesn't stop, grabbing Arthur again, pulling his hand away. Arthur spits in his face, smiling weakly as the O'driscoll wipes at his face with a disgusted grimace. 

"You're a pathetic man, Arthur Morgan," The O'driscoll snaps, shaking Arthur slightly as he scans him briefly.

"Takes one to know one," Arthur retorts, grinning against the pain. The O'driscoll stares at him for a moment, before grinning back, wide, psychopathic and wild. It makes a knot form in his stomach as the O'driscoll releases him, Arthur falling with a muffled thud. as he watches the O'driscoll take out his pistol.

"You never know when to shut up, huh?" The O'driscoll retorts calmly, passing a glance to his friend, Tommy, before training the gun at Arthur's head, "I was just going to hand you in to Colm, nice and easy, but you had to go around and run your damn mouth," He spits, venom lacing his words as he steadily lowers the gun, pointing it towards Arthur's crotch instead of head, "My pa, he was a real good killer, even better at hurting folk, taught me everything, first hand or otherwise," He says, waving the gun slightly, tauntingly as he flexes his trigger finger. Arthur clench his jaw, instinctively crossing his legs as the O'driscoll sneers above him, "You don't know how much I wanted to hurt you, Morgan, but I was willing to let you go, anything for Colm," he sighs dramatically, "But now you've gone and fucked yourself over,"

Arthur holds back his wit, waiting impatiently as the O'Driscoll stares at him, a wild glint in his eyes. A beat of silence passes, Arthur's eyes fall to the gun pointing directly below his belt the gun sway to the side and Arthur breathes a quiet sigh. The O'Driscoll huffs, a weird mixture of a snort and a scoff, leaning close to Arthur and tucking the barrel of the gun against the bleeding wound, "I haven't exercised my, uh, _skills_ in a while," 

Arthur snarled, refusing to show how much the pressure pained him, like a fire burning up his intestines, up to his liver and tracking up to his mind, another reason for a headache. The gun moves away, pressing up against his thigh instead, and that's as much warning Arthur gets before a bullet gets set free, pain spiraling from his hip to his now bleeding thigh, like a bridge of pain, from leg to side to arm to head. Blinded by the pain, Arthur tries to push himself away, but the O'driscoll denies him that, a harsh hand coming down on the fresh wound, squeezing impossibly tight. Despite his best efforts, Arthur screams against the pain, loud even for his own ears as he sags into the ground, breathing roughly. It's almost too much, the edges of his vision darkening, the hand moves away, coming down on his scorched arm instead and Arthur fights against a new type of pain, like pins and needles, except covered in kerosene and lit on fire. 

"Now, now," The O'driscoll soothes mockingly as Arthur tugs away, successfully hurting himself, "Don't you fade off, I've still got till the sun comes up, so you hang tight," he says, patting, more like slapping, Arthur's cheek. Arthur turns away from the touch, prompting the O'driscoll to grab onto his jaw, bruisingly tight and forcing him to catch his gaze. The O'driscoll smiles, wide and predatory as he holsters his gun, stepping over Arthur to stand above him, squinting slightly as he takes out a knife, "Now, Mister Morgan, do you need your kidney?"


	3. Rhodes

The world is a cotton ball of pain, doused in agony and lit on fire by a match called hurt. Everything is and will be pain, or so Arthur thinks, at least. The knife if already half way down his chest, cutting a deep diagonal line from his throat to the end of his rib cage. It sears, burns brighter than the bullet in his thigh, then the hole in his side, than anything else. Bleeding warm and thin blood, Arthur is frozen, the knife works on his chest, was on his stomach, next will probably be his sides but Arthur only has so much skin, so much blood before everything will fade into darkness. Hopefully soon.

The other O'driscoll comes to pin him down, twisting his arms above his head painfully, shoulders pulled tight and stretching all the new wounds. One long cut, from one corner of his ribs to another, a cross, upside down maybe, Arthur can't see, doesn't want to, but he can _feel_ it, mentally drawing the path of the knife.

"You know, my Pa taught me some things, like how to make a man hurt enough, hurt _a lot_ before passing out or possibly dying. It was fun to try out, the first time, but it wasn't enough, not really," The O'driscoll monologs, digging the knife deeper as it draws a new line, Arthur doesn't even know how he can distinguish between skin and blood at this point "Why make someone hurt, only from one place? That's no fun, no, I like to make them _bleed, Morgan_ , I like to see them struggle and get weak. One wound, that means there's still fight in them, but my Pa always was a bleeding heart," If Arthur had the energy or half as much pain, he'd laugh. A bleeding heart, must mean something new, seems to him he and his Pa were the sickest sons of bitches in the gang, sick and maniacal, like that Serial Murderer down near Valentine.

 

Arthur groans painfully as the knife pulls away, can see the blood on it as the O'driscoll examines it curiously. Arthur squints, pulling in raspy breaths as the O'driscoll looks at Arthur again, "You like to run, don't ya?" he asks, leaning in close, placing the tip of his knife to Arthur's for heads, tracing it down, barely putting any pressure, enough that Arthur can feel it but for there to be no actual damage, "My Pa said that running is man's best discovery, man's best feature too, but well... Animals run too, don't they?" The knife goes to Arthur's cheek, a pause, then the O'driscoll presses down. Another cut, directly on Arthur's cheek bone, tracing its curve and trailing down to the edge of his mouth, "You know what I like about animals, Morgan?" the O'driscoll asks, drawing a line with his knife from Arthur's lip down to his chin, continuing it up to his jaw, till he reaches his ear, "They don't roll over and die, when you hit 'em, they turn and run, most humans don't bother, but people like you, well... I must congratulate,"

 

"Much... Appreciated," Arthur croaks, throat clogged with a mixture of back flowing blood and spit. The O'driscoll laughs, bringing the knife close to Arthur's eye. Arthur closes them, feeling the metal against his eyelid. 

"You're a funny one, Morgan," The O'driscoll says, laughter dying down, "One of the most fun I've had in months," he adds, the knife pulling away and Arthur opens his eye carefully, The O'driscoll looks down to him, grinning maliciously, "This will be even more fun," he chuckles, spinning his knife between his fingers for a second before holding it to Arthur's hip, where it connects with his thigh.

Slowly, ever so _careful_ , the O'driscoll pushes the knife down, burying it deeper into the muscle. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, leg kicking out uselessly as he fights the pain burning a ring around his leg. He would've preferred a quicker stabbing, this is just too painful, feeling every bit of metal cutting him up, splitting his skin and burying deep until finally, _finally_ , Arthur feels the base of the knife snug against his skin and the pressure pulls back for a moment before the knife is retreating just as slow, cutting him again as it gets removes. 

"Patience is mans best friend, and worst enemy," The O'driscoll says, pausing the withdrawal as Arthur breathes roughly through his nose, jaw clenched painfully against the cuts, "A double edged sword, as people say," he adds with a click of his tongue, pulling the knife quickly away, "Alright, Morgan, one last thing then your run will start, I always liked this part, ain't that right, Clyde?" 

"Sure," Clyde replies quietly, his hands shifting on Arthur's arms, "Just-just make sure we give Colm a breathing body," 

"Oh, you wound me," The O'driscoll says mockingly, "I've done this a hundred times, at least half of them have survived till Colm had a pass," he rolls his eyes, "give me on of his hands," 

"What?" Clyde asks, Arthur cranes his neck, catching the confused look on his face, "Don't underestimate him, Ty," 

"Shut up, do as I say," The O'driscoll, Ty, orders . Looking impatient as he states at Clyde. 

"You saw he can fight, Ty," the third O'driscoll, Tommy?, says and Ty growls at both of them. 

"He won't have the chance to use it!" Ty whisper shouts, "Give me his damn hand," Clyde considers it for a moment before releasing his left arm, one of his hands clasped tightly on his burned forearm, "Oh come on, look at him!" 

"All I'm saying is that he can fight," Clyde mutters as Ty grabs his arm tightly, placing it over his stomach and shrugging. 

"No man can fight in a state like this, " Ty assures, spinning the knife again before raising it and bringing it down on Arthur's hand. Like an explosion, Arthur can feel himself scream, the pain from his hand overshadowed as his stomach sears. Ty laughs quietly from above him as Arthur blinks back tears, "Alright, Tommy, make yourself useful and help him up, I'll get the horses and you set him running," 

"Are you sure about this?" Clyde asks and Arthur is tempted to back him up though for different reasons, he's in no state to flee, can feel his body shut down already, pain over pain over pain, makes him dizzy as Clyde pulls him up to a sitting position, ignoring the bile in his throat and the gurgle of blood and spit. Tommy sighs as Ty ignores them, pulling Arthur to his feet and helping him stand, knife still pinning his hand to his stomach. 

As expected, Arthur feels his leg give out, one thigh burning against the bullet hole, the other against the knife wound. He can hear his pulse in his own ear, feels it against his neck, rapid and hard, trying to cope with the amount of blood lost. Hopefully he'll bleed out mid run, if he managed not to face plant into the soil. 

"Alright, set him free," Ty says from behind him and Clyde releases him, Arthur takes a step forward as Tommy copies Clyde. It's almost a fail, but Arthur manages to place one foot in front of the other, fights off the darkness threatening to over come him, wills himself to run. He does, maybe by some miracle or pure fear drowned determination, Arthur sprints, but not in the direction they expected, no. 

Arthur runs backwards, turning to a surprised Ty and pushing him away with his shoulder and free hand, startling one of the horses he's leading. The other two glance towards him as Clyde and Tommy shout at him, but he doesn't listen, he runs to the horse looking at him in differently, thankfully it doesn't panic as he pulls himself into its saddle, spurring it to go. 

Gunshots follow him, followed by a wail of frustration, but Arthur does not listen, he simply rides, impossibly fast, away from the O'driscolls, doesn't even know if it's towards camp or not. What's important is that he gets away, he needs to escape. The rode looks vaguely familiar, the greenary turning into dry sand and rocky terrain and Arthur feels himself panic less and less as the rode looks more and more distinguishable, he must've surpassed Dewberry creek by now, maybe near Rhodes. 

The relief doesn't last long, the horse he stole snorts as a bullet whizzes by, thankfully missing him. Another bullet, then a third and a fourth, the horse whines in their wake, at least they aren't shooting at him, must be valuable to its owner. Arthur spurs it, urging it go faster, his shirt torn and bloodied whipping against his equally if not more torn skin. 

He veers left into the sand, destined to slow him down but so will the others, he hopes someone would have enough sense to help him, though he doubts it, Lemoyne is filled with self secluded folk, most they'll do is call over the law, which will only get killed. 

He can see the smoke from Rhodes, rides around it as the O'driscolls fire at him, the horse thankfully staying dutiful against its own panic, well trained and obedient against Arthur's commands, tiring as they must be.

 Rhodes is out of sight and Arthur fights his instincts to go straight to camp. It's only three men, he doesn't have his weapons, can't melee them, doesn't think he has enough strength left. He can only run and hope they lose his track.


	4. Bluewater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter 3 times and each time I forgot to save it and so here's the fourth edition of this :)))) Everything is fine :)

Dutch's return was a flurry of shouting and orders, clutching his bleeding arm, calling for the boys to get their asses over _right now_ and ignoring all the worried questions thrown his way. "What happened?" Hosea had asked, hastily trying to calm Dutch down enough to care for his arm, he hadn't missed the way Arthur was missing, his stallion riding in behind The count without its rider.  
  
"O'driscolls, ambushed us, chased us all the way up to Dewberry, fucking blew up half the creek, Arthur got hurt, they-they took him and I-I had to leave to get you, I tried but-" Dutch explains quickly, letting Hosea wrap his arm in a bandage, enough that he wouldn't bleed out.  
  
"Where will we go?" Charles asks, shotgun in hand and ready to fight, Javier and Lenny behind him, John sharing words with Abigail before jogging over too.  
  
"I don't know where they headed, We need to spread out, Arthur was pretty out of it... The explosion it-it-" Dutch sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, it fucking scathed him, Arthur, even in the darkness of night, had looked like hell, "Lenny, Charles go around Ringneck and Rhodes, John, Javier, Go to Dewberry and as close as you can to Valentine, Don't get caught, we can't lose another... I'll go east, towards Saint-Denis" he says, pacing a few steps, "Hosea, you stay here," Dutch pauses as Hosea opens his mouth to object, "He may come back, and I need someone with him, please"  
  
"Okay, Dutch," Hosea agrees, looking inconvenienced but does not say anything, only heading back to where the girls are.  
  
"If any of the boys come back, Bill, Sean or Micah, send them out, We need to get him back, quickly," Dutch calls, the men sharing a nod, "Now go on," he dismisses as he turns to Hosea, who's giving him a curious look, "Turner boys were there, Hosea"  
  
"Shit," Hosea says, looking like the last piece of the puzzle has finally slot in, worry overcoming his features as he stands and paces a few steps. He turns to Dutch and says "Go on, Dutch, find our boy before... Before..."  
  
"I will," Dutch replies quickly, tone filled with conviction lathed worry, there's no need for Hosea to continue, images of Annabelle resurfacing clearly as if they happened yesterday. Bunch of sick sons of bitches, tore her up before Colm finished her off, might be doing the same to Arthur right this second,"And _this time_ there will be no more of them," Dutch knows he should have killed his kids too, Luther Turner was a monster and can only produce ones, it seems,  but young Ty was only fifteen, his two brothers even younger and Dutch couldn't pull the trigger, even at the face of their threats and murderous glint in their eyes, raised like strays, turned feral instead of proper. And now it comes to bite him in the ass, him and all those who care about Arthur and Arthur himself

The Count snorts as Dutch mounts him again, stomping a weak rejection before submitting and allowing Dutch to ride him away from the hay he'd been snacking on. Dutch feels a bit of guilt, the ride back must've drained The Count, with no pausing and a hard act of weaseling through the treacherous ground, uneven and rocky. He gave him so little time to rest, he can feel the way the exhaustion makes The Count huff at every gallop. Dutch leans, threading his fingers through The Count's mane, "You'll rest soon, buddy," Dutch promises, "One last errand,"

* * *

 

Arthur is lost. He realizes it as soon as he notices they're no longer between rocks and sand, instead, they're between swamps and breathing in the thick air, thicker than Rhodes'. He can't pinpoint his location, figures he either went the wrong way or the blood loss is making him too forgetful, but he's almost certain he's never been here. The horse takes the duty of leading them through the trees, Arthur hanging back and simply trying to stay alive. He wants to turn back, the gunshots have ceased, but he has no doubt that if they do then the O'Driscolls will find them. He can't fight them, on a normal day, sure but he's struggling against his own biology. His head screams a headache, threatening to make him pass out, his body throbs with a horrible mixture of cold, pain and lethargy. His jaw is set tight, teeth grinding against each other to keep his shivering at bay, his hand trembles, even against the white-knuckled grip he has on the reigns,  his vision is blurry at best as the horse snorts and guides them on its own. 

The horse does its part, does it well, better than Arthur cares to admit. Through the entire run, it hadn't shaken its head, snorted here and there, reared once against an alligator but doesn't drop him, doesn't fight against his twitchy commands, it rides fast and sure, and Arthur can only thank it for his survival so far. A good steed, strong and fast, shame it fell under an O'Driscoll. Arthur tugs on the reins, the horse snorts again but stops, dancing a circle before stopping completely. Arthur takes in the surroundings, waiting a moment for the trees to stop spinning before blinking. _Absolutely no fucking clue_ , no idea where he is, the place doesn't string up any memories, maybe he'd gone too far west, maybe even north but he has no way to know, trees too thick to even know which way is north. 

The horse stomps a warning, snorting and shaking its head as it whinnies, Arthur squints against the darkness, failing to place the threat before seeing it, just barely, from a streak of moonlight, a man stands with a gleaming knife. And that's all Arthur gets to see before the horse bolts away, pulling him with it and he jerks, leg thankfully stable enough in the stirrups to holding him from falling. It pulls on his wounds, thigh burning before everything turns black and his mind fuzzes indistinguishably.

The next time he opens his eyes, he's lying on his back, the horse is still moving under him. Arthur groans as he pulls himself up, sags against the saddle and the horse huffs in confusion, "You're doing good," Arthur whispers, voice barely audible over the horse hooves. The pain had tripled, if that's possible, can feel every little tug that the movement causes, can feel his stomach muscle twitch against the knife wounds, it almost pulls him into unconsciousness again but he forces himself to stay awake. Through bleary eyes, Arthur can see that they're out of the swamps, the horse is no longer running, just peacefully trotting. The sky is still dark, so Arthur guesses it hadn't been that long, he can't figure whether he's thankful for still being alive or bitter about it. 

Arthur lets himself relax entirely, head lolling with the horse's movement and he watches the scenery go by with an empty stare. For all he knows, he's far enough from the O'Driscolls, but also far from camp. He can figure it out, eventually, if he survives. For now, Arthur rests, the pain dulls as the fog in his head thickens, blinking against the feathering edges of his vision. He can't tell whether the prospect of sleeping and never waking up is inviting or terrifying. 

The horse turns to him, blowing a breath towards him before turning away and continuing its walk, Arthur decides he really likes the horse, maybe if he survives he can keep it. 

* * *

 

Charles and Lenny search far and wide, exceeding the limit Dutch gave them and heading east of Ringneck. They can barely find anything, some man camping had told them he heard gunshots a while back, saw some horses running by, nothing else and so they go on another wild goose chase, heading the way the man had said the horses ran. Lenny tries to stay calm, but Charles can see the way he fidgets with his reigns, fingers slipping to his pistol every few minutes and his constant over-praising to his horse, Maggie.

Charles can't offer any reassurance except the empty conviction that Arthur has been through worse, That he's tough, but they both know Dutch had never let himself show so much raw panic, Charles reckons he didn't even notice in his haste to gather them. It's almost the peak of midnight when they see it, a lone horse, or so it seemed. Charles had ridden ahead, shotgun in hand as Lenny hangs back, it's dark but Charles can make out the slumped figure. "Lenny, come here," Charles calls, eyes not leaving the body, it shifts and Charles blinks at the face that stares back.

"Arthur?" Charles asks, feeling the tension bleed out ever so slightly, Arthur's face is messed up, a cut along his cheek and a bloody nose, his arm hangs loosely beside him, shirt burned and showing the charred skin underneath, it's a teeth-gritting sight, would be more scary if Arthur hadn't blinked at him owlishly, recognition flashing in his eyes as he shifts again, squinting against the movement.

"Charles," Arthur slurs, voice barely reaching Charles' ears as he unmounts and stops the ever trotting horse. Closer now, Charles helps Arthur sit up again, freezing as his torso comes into view.

"Jesus Christ," Lenny mutters, still on Maggie as he comes closer, "We need to get him back, quick," he says and Charles nods, to himself more than anything. Arthur looks at him in confusion before sagging against the saddle again and Charles pulls the reigns from under him, guiding the horse behind Taima. It snorts at him, huffing but doesn't complain as Charles ties it to his saddle, he gives it a treat, if what Dutch had said was accurate, then this horse had held Arthur from Dewberry all the way to Bluewater and it deserves a treat at the very least. Charles mounts up, checking that Arthur is stable in his saddle and kicking off, heading back from when they came.


	5. Clemens Point

The first signs of trouble come in quick successions, first, they hear a yell, then the clicking of a rifle, and finally the bullets rain towards them. Lenny, ever the sharpshooter, fired randomly and only managed to spook the horses as Charles rounded beside Arthur as a human cover. Arthur, for the most part, blinks at the noise, raising his head and letting it drop once Charles demands he stay put. The O'Driscolls shout threats and profanities as Charles and Lenny shoot at them, the bright flashes of guns their only indication of where their enemies lie. It's pitch black, Charles desperately wants to take out his lantern but there is no time, and it will only let the O'Driscolls know where he is, better off with the mutual cover. 

There's three of them, should've been an easy pick, but they fire wild and dangerous, constantly moving around. Charles knows they're trying to get to Arthur, there's a pattern in the way they move, one of them would circle behind them while the other two cover fire, Charles finds himself dancing in a circle, Lenny struggling to keep himself and Maggie safe. Taima whinnies and stomps, Charles turns for a moment only to be pushed off of his horse. He crashed to the ground, blinking as Taima neighs and kicks the O'Driscoll, she paces a few steps and turns to Charles as he collects himself. 

Arthur is sitting up now, balancing dangerously on the stirrups as he holds a pocketknife unsteadily towards the O'driscoll closest. Charles retrieves his shotgun and raises it, the O'driscoll snarls and ducks away from the shot, dragging Arthur with him to the ground. Charles freezes as Arthur screams, the O'driscoll laughs as he hauls him up, Arthur stumbles on his own feet and Charles lowers his shotgun. The O'driscoll grins, his arm holding Arthur in a choke hold and Charles glances down and grimaces at the sight, Arthur's hand bloodied and shaking against the knife stuck through it, Charles doesn't know whether he's holding his arm close or if it's pinned to his stomach. "Put your guns down," he demands, tugging on Arthur as Lenny glances at Charles unsurely. 

Charles nods and Lenny holsters his pistol begrudgingly. and rounds around to stand by Charles as the third O'driscoll checks on his friend that got kicked by the horse, "Ty?" The O'driscoll holding Arthur asks, glancing at the other O'driscoll who in turns sighs and shakes his head, "Ty, answer me,"

"Clyde's dead, Tommy," Ty responds impatiently, turning to Taima in anger "Your horse killed my brother," Ty says, eyes still trained on Taima as she shifts and grazes at the ground calmly. Ty scoffs, glancing at the dead body beside him before raising his pistol towards Taima, she looks up, blinking against the threat and Charles takes a step forward.

"She's just an animal, she was scared," 

"Don't matter, It killed my brother,"  Ty spits and Charles lets his frustration show as he tries to reach for the O'Driscoll's gun, Ty pushes him away with surprising strength and Charles stumbles back a few steps, standing beside Lenny again. Ty looks at him dead in the eyes and Charles can feel fear bubble up inside him, but he hides it under an indifferent glare. With a sick smile, Ty makes a show of pulling back the hammer and aiming well at Taima's head. Taima looks up, snorts and looks at Charles with a calm blink. Just about to open his mouth again, Ty lets out a scream and crumbles to the ground, Arthur falling behind him as Tommy struggles to hold him. 

A stray gunshot rings before either Lenny or Charles can grasp what happens and Tommy falls to the ground with a choked gurgle. Charles drags his eyes from the dying O'Driscoll to where Arthur holds a pistol shakily, once he catches Charles' gaze he huffs, letting the gun drop. Lenny goes to his side quickly, Charles on his heels, eyes raking over Ty's body and catching the knife lodged in his neck, he glances at Arthur's previously stabbed hand and hums to himself. "Arthur?" Lenny asks, slinging a hand around Arthur to help him sit.

"Reckon we can get back to camp now?" Arthur asks, voice weak and rough, Charles nods, helping Lenny pull him to his feet. Arthur can't hold himself, sinking to his knees, only held by Lenny and Charles' grip, "Can't walk," he says apologetically, voice growing quieter. 

"Noticed," Charles replies, pulling Arthur up again, "Come on, Grimshaw will patch you up just fine," He assures, shifting under Arthur's weight.

"Christ, what did they do to you?" Lenny mutters, whistling for Maggie. Arthur smiles humorlessly, letting Lenny pull him up on the horse.

"A lot, too much," He answers and they fall into an uncomfortable silence, tense and worries as Lenny settles on the saddle, Arthur behind him and barely holding on to the thin threads of consciousness. 

"Well it's over now," Lenny says determinedly, sharing a glance with Charles who runs a gentle hand down Taima's neck, they nod to each other as they kick off towards camp.

* * *

 

They make it back, a quick glance at his pocket watch tells Lenny it's close to three in the morning, the camp is still alive and working although looking half alive. Hosea is waiting for them, Uncle announcing their return with a loud shout as Charles and Lenny help Arthur down. At some point, Arthur had given up on staying away, almost falling off the horse once he was fully unconscious, thankfully Charles was riding close enough that he caught him before he could slide off. He hadn't woken up since. It would be more worrying if his breathing wasn't rattling every few minutes.

"Christ," Hosea whispers to himself, "You did good, boys," he counsels as they carry Arthur to his tent, they hang around as Hosea and Grimshaw spin around Arthur, cleaning the dirt and blood away, "You can go rest,"

"Will he be..." Lenny trails off, eyeing Arthur worriedly as new wounds come to view, a bullet in the thigh, a cut along his side, a stab wound in the hip, with each piece of clothing pushed, a new wound comes into view. Hosea looks up at him, smiling gently, though, his eyes are filled with similar concern.

"He made it this far," he says with a sigh, "He's strong, stronger than most," he adds, sounding more and more desperate as he wipes a cloth down Arthur's chest, one of the wounds, the deepest it looks like, refuses to stop bleeding. The others have thinned, blood oozing slower but this one, the one ranging from his throat and down the length of his sternum, it bleeds just as heavy as when Charles and Lenny found him. The bullet wound on his hip doesn't look any better, though Grimshaw says she's hopeful since the bullet went through muscle and missed his organs, a small blessing. 

Charles and Lenny don't rest, taking small duties around the camp and waiting for the rest to come back. Javier is the first to be seen, John on his heels looking somber as they dismount and trudge in. They brighten once they see the light in Arthur's tent, John stepping towards it only to be stopped by Charles. John gives him a confused glance, confusion morphing into worry as he pushes past Charles' arm and into the tent. There's a low mummer, John's voice rises slightly before Hosea's cuts through, calm but tense and Javier waits patiently, bouncing on his heels as Lenny explains the events. 

At the break of dawn, Dutch returns, looking tired and saddened as he enters the camp, blinking at Charles and Javier as his gaze falls onto the tent. "Arthur?" He asks quietly and Charles looks over his shoulder with a sigh.

"Alive but..."

"They messed him up real bad, Dutch," Lenny continues, "Knifed him up, I-I've-"

"It's okay," Dutch soothes, though his eyes burn with anger, "Are they alive, the men,"

"Arthur killed them," Charles answers and Dutch nods, some tension bleeding out, "Hosea, John, and Grimshaw are with him,"

"Thank you," Dutch says with a tired sigh, "You did good," he adds, clapping Lenny's shoulder as he passes them, heading into Arthur's tent and seconds later, Grimshaw stalks out, hands bloodied and looking bone achingly tired. She passes them, washing her hands and turning to face them.

"You boys should go rest, we've all had a rough night," She says, shooing them to their tents, "Come on, I don't expect you to laze about tomorrow,"

"Will he be okay?" Javier asks, allowing her to push him before she pauses.

"We can hope," she replies, and Javier nods as she steps back, "Now, go sleep,"

* * *

 

Hosea sits in the tent with Dutch, no words shared as they both silently pickle in their worry. Arthur is still pale, came back dressed more in blood than actual clothing, Hosea couldn't seem to stop one wound from bleeding before the other appeared and it seemed all too reminiscent to how they found Annabelle. They didn't need to talk, both thankful for the fact that Arthur is alive yet sickly scared of what's to come, with the threat of death is still hanging in the air. They take small comforts in Arthur's subtle shifts, the way his arm twitches under the bandages, the small expression changes, the way his breathing seems to become impossibly quiet at times. The Turner boys are dead, that's another relief, fewer monsters now live and no longer will the threat be available. 

Hosea was sure that Dutch would hatch some plan to avenge Arthur, holding Colm accountable by all means. But for now, he is thankful that Dutch remains silent, watching Arthur and being a gentle calming presence. 

They stay awake through the night, drinking immense amounts of coffee to keep them alert. After a load of convincing, Grimshaw retired at sunrise, with the promise of only a quick nap before waking up again. Dutch reads, Hosea cleans his guns and Charles visits in the morning, bringing news that the horse Arthur had apparently stolen from a Turner boy had followed them and would not leave. A quick check tells Hosea that the horse Arthur managed to steal was an Ardennes, reddish-brown coat gleaming gold in the early sunlight, looking fit and bloodied, undoubtedly Arthur's blood. Hosea eyes Arthur's steed, a white-coated Nokota he'd tamed near Strawberry, one that Arthur had liked very much but gave him a hard time forming a mutual bond. Named him Achilles after three days of name picking, like it was his goddamn newborn. 

The Ardennes gazes at the camp unbothered, shaking its head and munching on the grassy ground. "Unsaddle him and get him clean," Hosea had ordered, Charles already halfway to the duty before he could finish the sentence.

"Boy is a horse magnet," Dutch joked lightly, standing beside Hosea as they watch the horse snort at Charles' hand, allowing him to take off the equipment.

"Nature always liked him," Hosea replies, looking over his shoulder to where the tent was slightly opened, enough for Hosea and Dutch to keep an eye on Arthur while they get some fresh air, "Man...not so much," he completes and Dutch nods in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is a little abrupt for an ending BUT I kinda wanted to leave the rest for your interpretation. Also, the story about the Nokota is true, I found one and tamed it while on the Sean mission and had a hard time naming it (BTW all the horse names and breeds I use in my stories are actual horses I own/owned in the game, my favorite was Barkly but he was a Turkoman instead of a Mustang, I cried when he died)


End file.
